


Mother Nature Wants Us All Dead

by varjohaltija



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Australia is one scary place, Clint NO!, Clint Needs a Hug, Coulson worries too much, Especially bugs, Everybody loves Clint, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Nature - should you go there?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2433548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija/pseuds/varjohaltija
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The assignment in Australia had sounded like a great fun and Clint had actually looked forward on going.</p><p>This isn't quite what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother Nature Wants Us All Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by encouraging, patient and ever so wonderful [Cristinuke](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke). :) Without her being so fab I would have sat on this for another half a year, I guess. All the mistakes are mine.

They are on their way to the collection point through the Queensland backcountry, and Clint is so utterly, thoroughly _done_. He cannot remember when he was last this fed up during any operation. It’s hot, sweaty, and uncomfortable. Everything chafes – he doesn’t care how well this shit of a new uniform protects him from bullets and antimatter and whatnot, he is going to revert back to the old design, end of discussion.

Mosquitoes are showing him way too much attention. How come they always find that one sensitive spot behind his ear, no matter how much he uses the repellant? And why does it seem that they only bother him and never Natasha? Malicious miniature vampires – god he hates them. He hates these jungles. He hates the smelly swamp mud that is caked to his boots, he hates the sweat stinging in his eyes, he hates the leeches that were brought out by the rain in numbers he never could have imagined in his worst nightmares (and man, does he have some quality horror brewing inside his head), he hates that there isn’t a single square inch of his clothes that isn’t drenched… and did he mention that he absolutely. Fucking. Hates. Mosquitoes?

The assignment in Australia had sounded like a great fun and Clint had actually looked forward on going, because Australia, man! Natasha and Coulson had also told some awesome stories of Aussie SHIELD agents who apparently put Crocodile Dundee to shame. USA reinforcement was requested because the massive operation in South-East Asia had expanded to cover some of the cases they had dealt with before. Clint had felt satisfied that they would get to catch the old foes who thought they had actually got away with it.

Disappointedly they hadn’t had a chance to meet any locals, just jumping into the mission right away. And despite their swiftness, the main baddies had fled again. The rest of the excitement had long ago been sucked dry by the bugs. They never advertise clouds of bloodthirsty insects in the tourist guides. Or about a million or so species of deadly snakes and spiders and shit. To be fair, they fail to mention crocodile-space alien-hybrid producing madmen, too.

Clint had even dragged along his surfboard despite of an already crammed space in the quinjet, because original intel had situated their target on the South Coast. Natasha had grumbled that he could rent a board instead – probably even a purple one, but Clint won the argument by reminding her that those weren’t designed by Tony Stark… Clint had had a cunning plan of impressing certain people with his surfing skills and how goddamn hot he looks in his wetsuit. Now, the only place he would’ve had a chance to go and ride the waves, had displayed huge signs warning people of “marine stingers”, tiny but deadly jellyfish in the water. Australia was no fun.

He hasn’t seen one single kangaroo or koala. He has, however, met a brush-tailed possum – a local version of a raccoon which, showing impressive stealth, had sneaked up to tear a hole into his pack and gobbled up or destroyed all his protein bars and Gatorade. No matter how much Natasha scolds him for being soft, the furry vermin had been too cute for Clint to retaliate. And now he is being eaten alive by these fucking bugs! This is such a bullshit mission.

“Don’t touch that plant!” Natasha’s shout has stopped Clint right on his tracks.

“What, this?” Big bushes are blocking their way. They look pretty harmless. Then again, so did those killer bots in Peking - Clint still shudders every time he sees a Hello Kitty. “Is it poisonous?”

“It’s a kind of stinging nettle.” She actually takes a step back.

Maybe it’s because a mosquito is launching a vicious attack to his eyelid or the fact that Natasha doesn’t seem to be sweating at all, but suddenly, Clint’s annoyance reaches to a boiling point. Fuck this shit! He just wants to get away from this stupid place, these stupid insects, and this stupid heat right about now, somewhere dry and cool and bug-free. He wants a bath, good food and a real bed. It’s only few miles to go and he is counting minutes until he’ll be free of this hellhole. He‘s not going to use any extra time to go around some fucking _nettles_.

“Nah, I’ve done poison Ivy, I can handle anything.” To prove his point he brushes his arm through the leaves. He has fought armies of trained killers and been injured in more ways that he can remember. He isn’t afraid of some tiny rash…  
  
He can hear Natasha gasp. There is a stab of worry in his mind, but regardless he’s just about to say something snarky about dropping the excess drama. However, before he can even open his mouth, _pain_ shoots up his arm. Intense, white pain. His arm feels like it’s on fire – or worse, because he’s had burns before and they never had felt this bad. He wants to spit out every profanity he knows, but for that he needs to be able to breathe first.

How can it hurt so fucking much? And it’s just getting worse. He has dropped to the ground and Natasha is dragging him away from the evil bush.

Coulson‘s voice in his ear is demanding to know what is going on. Coulson actually swears, when in the distance Natasha tells dryly over the comm that “the master botanist” has touched gimpi-gimpi. At least the fucker of a plant has a stupid name. _Up yours, chlorophyll monster._

By the time Coulson gets to them it is already pure agony, Clint is curled up on his side and vomiting. He shakes while painfully dragging in a few breaths, just to vomit again and again and again, even though there is nothing in him anymore and acid burns in his throat. Coulson and Natasha are talking to him, but sorry mates, too much suffering to do to pay attention. Coulson puts something warm on his arm and _how can it feel warm, his skin is in flames?_ so Clint takes a glimpse and, _what? those are wax strips on his arm? and FUCKING HELL!!!_ Coulson yanks them off, hair and all. Clint wants to punch him, only he has to postpone it a bit, being too busy at the moment with throwing up.

Natasha pours something on his arm and it burns, but not as much as the damn plant. This is what you get for not listening to the woman who has not only worked on this godforsaken continent before, but also is named after one of Mother Nature’s poisonous little bastards herself. _Or is it venomous? Toxic?_ Clint cannot bring himself to care. And then they must have decided he’d be better off unconscious because everything goes dark. The last thing he remembers are Coulson’s hands around him, trying to keep him from trashing around. He wants to stay still, he does, but he can’t. It HURTS! He is pretty certain he's going to die.

 

\---------------

 

Clint wakes up and discomfort tells him right away that it’s definitely not Heaven; not that he was expecting to end up that side of the fence anyway. It could well be Hell, but the lights, the smell, and the IV in his hand, all point strongly to SHIELD medical. He is in the hospital over a plant. Not real.

His arm is still hurting, but while it definitely isn’t something he can totally ignore, the pain isn’t overpowering, just dull, throbbing stabs occasionally and even that is far far away and Clint feels blissfully woozy. The ceiling sways a bit. _Wow, awesome painkillers._

He turns his head to see Coulson sitting next to him, frowning slightly at the papers he is reading. He looks tired. _Coulson needs a hug… yes, definitely._ Clint tries to lift his hand to reach over, but realizes it won’t budge – _what? Oh, his hands are tied to the bed._ Clint winces, vaguely remembering how he could not stay still before blacking out. He must have been quite a handful for the medical personnel. Again.

“Hi, boss.” His speech is maybe bit slurred but who cares?

Coulson lifts his gaze. A slight smile tugs in the corners of his mouth, features soften and his eyes light up. Clint feels like million dollars and if it wasn't for the stupid restraints he would swoop over and kiss Coulson. _Really great painkillers._

But Coulson’s contentment is brief, to be replaced with the impenetrable glare of The Handler.

“Let’s take those away…” Coulson stands up and reaches over to detach the restraints. He opens the cuffs quickly but gently, and lowers the side rail. Clint wants to grab him and feels so slow, because Coulson is out of a reach before he has time to react.

“You were pretty out of it and somewhat uncooperative to put it mildly.” There is a silent apology in there. It’s so unnecessary, because Clint knows his fight or flight instincts kick in quite easily and he will resist even those trying to help him. Doctors also tend to get rather annoyed if they have to hunt down their doped patient in the air vents.

Coulson magics a bottle of Gatorade with a straw from somewhere and Clint only now notices how dry his mouth is. He accepts the drink thankfully.

“Are you hurting a lot?” Coulson sounds concerned, deep furrows forming on his forehead. That’s bad; Clint doesn’t want him to look like that. _I want you to smile for me._

So Clint musters up his best cheer, “It still aches, but it’s fine. I don’t want to gnaw my arm off anymore.”

That doesn’t make Coulson laugh. He sits back down in his chair, looking sour. “Good. Painkillers don’t always work for that. You will, however, have pains for weeks still, maybe months.” What a killjoy.

And then Clint remembers, “How’s Tasha?”

“She only got few stings, thanks to her tactical suit. She’s been here with you most of the time. I convinced her to go and have some rest.” Coulson makes it sound like he had to force her at gunpoint… which could well have been the case.

Clint feels bad. Tasha got stung while she was helping him. He only now notices tiny blotches of angry rashes on Coulson’s hands. Shit. Getting injured is one thing – you make your bed and sleep in it, it’s fine. Getting other people hurt makes him feel disgusted with himself.

Clint has to try to lighten the mood somehow, so he lifts his arm, “Lucky thing it’s bandaged… wouldn’t want anyone to see your fucked up hair removal job.”

Coulson doesn’t dignify to comment on that. Instead he glances at his papers and takes a deep breath. “Agent. That was a dangerous thing to do.” He looks serious, almost angry, but sounds mostly worried.

“Yeah, I get it now.” Clint hates this. Coulson never calls him stupid, but it doesn’t stop Clint from feeling like an idiot. He doesn’t want Coulson to think he’s some dumbass.

“Why didn’t you listen to Romanov?”

“Ummm… well, you see, Tasha tends to screw with me all the time. I thought she was pulling my leg. Because come on, it’s kinda hard to believe that a nettle could be that nasty.” To be honest, Clint still has difficulties accepting that a plant rendered him so defenseless.

“That nettle has killed people. It does no actual physiological damage, but the neurotoxins cause pain that can be intense enough to trigger a stroke. Also, those stinging hairs can provoke respiratory distress when inhaled.” Coulson sounds so very very serious and there is hint of irritation. So OK, this was the motherfucker of a plant, and yeah, Clint shouldn’t have touched it, but why the fuck does Coulson has to be this tense about it? Clint doesn’t have to wait for long for the other shoe to drop, because Coulson continues, “And what is it that you are saying? Has Romanov “screwed with you” on the mission? Has she provided you false information during the operation? ”

“No no no! Of course not!” _Coulson fucking knows this, why is he even asking such a thing?_ “ She pulls of these pranks when we are off duty and…” Clint falls silent because he suddenly sees how wrong this conversation could go.

Coulson’s voice is cool and impersonal, void of any emotion, and he is looking somewhere past Clint, “ You know… SHIELD used to discourage off-duty relationships between staff members in the past, because they used to think it might affect their performance on the field… cloud their judgment.”

Clint is swallowing hard around the lump that is forming in his throat. No painkillers can dull the sharp twinge in his heart. This isn’t going well at all. So he starts to explain more, about how annoyed he was in general and how he wanted to get away and how really it is hard to believe that plants can be really goddamn dangerous and that he honest to god wasn’t thinking that much because he had hardly slept in two days and if there was anything clouding his judgment it was those squadrons of insects and yes he knows he should have listened but it is totally, _totally_ his own fault and nothing to do with his relationships with anybody and fuck, he is babbling now, so he snaps his mouth shut, fear and an accompanying disappointment starting to strangle his guts for real. _It’s all going to hell, it’s never going to happen and how he has waited for this… fuck fuck fuck. This is unfair!_ He feels like a kicked puppy.

He must also look like one, because suddenly Coulson’s expression melts and he is just Phil again, looking straight at Clint, eyes warm and a little bit sad. Phil rushes up and urgently cups Clint’s face with one hand while he leans in to press a quick, dry kiss to Clint’s lips, all the paperwork falling to the floor as he lifts his other hand to card through Clint’s hair ever so gently. Clint lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and leans to the touch, the weight dropping from his heart. Phil’s hand is firm on Clint’s neck now, warm, safe and consoling; he rests their foreheads together and his words get bit mumbled, because their lips are so close together. “Sorry, that came out so wrong… I’m such an asshole. I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry. You just scared me and I got angry, because... because I’d just hate to lose you… Our date is still on, if you just want.”

Fuck yeah Clint wants. And he wants right now. Something resembling a growl escapes his throat as he smashes his mouth against Phil’s, not even aiming for chaste. It’s a desperate and hungry kiss, so perfect that Clint gets a bit dizzy. Or maybe it’s the meds that make him feel like falling and send almost an electric buzz all the way down to his toes, making them curl… but it’s perfect anyway. His heart is hammering in his chest so fiercely that he’s afraid it might burst. He is groping under Phil’s jacket, grabbing everywhere he can and pulls them tightly together. Phil feels so good in his arms, all solid muscle and warmth… and there is nothing more that Clint wants… at least until Phil licks into his mouth in all ways impossibly dirty and wonderful, letting out tiny, whimpering sounds that go straight to Clint’s cock. Something like decency flashes in the back of his head – in these facilities there are people constantly looking at the security cameras – but Clint just wants to climb inside Phil’s mouth and into his arms… He’s already half-hard and scrambling with his uninjured hand to palm Phil’s crotch, finding a satisfying, hot bulge. Clint grins smugly as Phil gasps and jerks helplessly against the touch.

And that’s where it stops. Just like that. One second Phil is grinding against Clint’s hand and biting a bruise to his collarbone, the next he has pushed himself of off Clint and is retreating, flushed and panting with something close to panic in his eyes.

Clint is frustrated enough to actually whine and he tries to pull Phil back. But Phil just takes Clint’s hands to his own and ducks the attempted kiss.

“I… I… I can’t.. I can’t now, not like this… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… I… I’m sorry.”

Clint is so confused he doesn’t even know what to say before Phil has quickly kissed his hand and rushed out of the door mumbling something almost inaudible.

What the fuck? It’s not like Phil is shy – they’ve made out before. Maybe it’s the security cameras? Maybe… but Clint doesn’t really know what to think anymore. What did he miss?

 

\--------------

 

He doesn’t have to ponder alone for a long, because in a minute or so the door opens and Natasha slides in. She takes a look at Clint, the papers on the floor and sits down in the chair. Clint would pay big bucks to learn how she, despite wearing an oversized T-shirt and loose sweatpants and having her hair wet and flat after a shower, nevertheless manages to look like the queen of fucking everything.

And the queen is curious. “What did you do to Coulson?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“I was waiting outside for you two to finish your… eh- _reporting_ , when he barges out and into a nurse, looking like a mess and behaving like he actually was human. I don’t think I’ve ever heard so many apologies in one sentence… So yeah… what did you do to him to get him so flustered? Care to teach me that trick?”

“I don’t know what the fuck happened. We were kissing and he just… ran.”

Natasha raises her eyebrow and smirks. “ Kissing…” her gaze slides down to Clint’s lap, to the still clear proof of the past excitement. “…OK, whatever.”

Clint rolls his eyes at her, “Well yeah… maybe a bit more than that.”

“That figures then.” She rises and gathers the papers, takes a look at them and, unimpressed, puts them on the table before coming to sit on Clint’s bed.

“How come?” Why does it seem everybody is few steps ahead of him today?

She looks at him like he just said something stupid. “It’s just Coulson having Coulson-y hang-ups of right and wrong.” And as Clint still stares with a questioning expression, she sighs and explains,“ He doesn’t want to take advantage of you.”

Clint huffs in apprehension. Not this shit again. “I’m a grown-ass man, not a child. And we’ve had that lame handler-asset yada yada bullshit talked over. Like a hundred times. SHIELD doesn’t have a fraternization policy.” It had been a ridiculously long and tiresome battle, but finally Coulson had relented. Clint had almost given up, but on their first kiss he had known it all would have been worth chasing for a longer time still.

“Yes, you are a big boy.” Somehow Natasha doesn’t sound so convinced “…but you are also on drugs.”

“Hell I am. It’s just painkillers.” Truth is, Clint doesn’t get the fussing, because he is feeling relatively normal. Well…barring the hospital walls that seem to be wavering and slow reflexes and slight slurring…

Natasha snorts. “That stuff they’re pumping into you is strong enough to let you walk for hours with your head cut off.”

She reaches out to take his hand and strokes it firmly with her thumb, warm soothing circles. Clint nearly moans at how wonderful it feels. Natasha is amazingly talented in giving hand massages and she has nursed Clint’s battle-worn fingers back to health countless times. She is staring down to her task quietly for a while before frowning. Why is everybody so damn serious? “Clint, in the field, I injected so much morphine into you that I was afraid it could stop your breathing. And you were still in agony. The painkillers they are using now… I don’t know what they are, but they are doing their job. They must be strong. They can affect you.”

“So that’s why Coulson doesn’t want to mess with me…?”

She snaps her gaze to Clint’s eyes and smiles. “For the same reason I haven’t yet smacked your stupid head for what you did. I’m not certain you would really know what hit you.”

Clint cannot help laughing, “And you are also concerned it wouldn’t hurt, because of the drugs?”

She flashes a wolfish grin at him and Clint has to stomp on the urge to flinch. “Exactly. You deserve to be fully aware and feeling it when I kick your tight ass from here to next week.” The predatory glint in her eyes subsides and she smiles fondly. She snuggles next to Clint and under his arm. There is laughter in her voice when she says, “And sure, if I was planning on tapping that aforementioned cute butt, I’d be even more careful to not have you high as a kite.” She definitely deserves to be mercilessly tickled for that, but Clint is one-handed and slow and he needs to mind his IV, so after a short and clumsy fight it’s actually him who needs to ask for mercy. They are both out of breath and giggling hysterically on the bed in the end. It takes some time for them to calm down.

Clint will blame drugs for getting all mushy, but he feels like talking and well… Natasha was always a great listener.

“Tash… do you think it’s just the consent issues that make him all weird… or could he be having some second thoughts… on us?” He is surprised with how fragile he sounds and he immediately feels like a stupid lovesick teenager.

Natasha doesn’t ridicule him. She just smiles and pats his cheek tenderly. “You are so silly. The guy's been painfully in love with you for years. I don’t think he’ll get over it just like that. He’s now undoubtedly somewhere flogging himself, but he’ll be back here in no time, so that you two can keep on being disgustingly smitten with each other. Don’t you worry. He just tries hard to do the right thing. That's why you fell for him - because he is a decent guy. Right?”

Clint nods, “Yeah... and because he is hot as fuck.”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head but there is a warm smile quivering on her lips. She settles herself comfortably, arm around Clint, head resting on his shoulder and lets out a long suffering sigh, “You both are such idiots. Now shut up and let me sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been anywhere near Australia. I waaaaant to go someday. I've heard it's a magical place. :) My apologies for painting such a lousy picture of Oz in favor of dramatic effect.


End file.
